


Home for the Holidays

by Ivorysilk



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Hurt Jim, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:09:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivorysilk/pseuds/Ivorysilk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is home for the holidays, just as planned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title: Home for the Holidays**  
 **Author:** Ivorysilk  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Jim is home for the holidays, just as planned.  
 **Spoilers:** Everything Trek, and nothing at all.  
 **Warning:** Drivel, and Kirk/McCoy. Also for over-the-top Christmas angst! I had a bunch of stuff to polish and post, but it's been a long busy work-week, and I'm feeling all bah humbug, and so, I dashed this off instead. On the other hand, there's a sappier part 2.  
 **Disclaimer:** I do not own these characters, or this universe. I am writing this for fun, and because I have no self-control and am also evil, to the extent that I clearly covet other people's things.

Merry Christmas!  
*************************************************

 

There is fog, and darkness, and a voice.

“Jim--darlin’, you awake?”

_Bones,_ he thinks. It’s dark, though, and distantly, his leg hurts, his head throbs, and he wonders where he is.

“Jim, do you know where you are?” Bones’ voice is gentle but insistent.

_Not really_ , he thinks, although he is sure he can figure it out, if Bones gives him a minute. He is lying on something hard, and he’s a little cold, although there is something light and soft covering him, and … someone is holding his hand. It’s nice. He smiles. The hand is large, warm and strong, and there’s … there’s an annoying beeping. He frowns.

“’m in Sickbay,” he mumbles, smelling antiseptic, and struggling to open his eyes. It’s hard, and the beeping is getting louder.

“Relax, Jim,” Bones says, and a hand is carding through his hair, “How are you feeling?”

“’m fine, Bones,” he says, winning the battle to open his eyes and blink blearily at the blue and pink Bones-shaped blob beside his bed. Fucking sedatives. “Are you releasing me?”

Bones audibly growls at him, but his eyes are smiling. “You just got out of surgery, idiot. I doubt it. Besides, it’s the holidays, and really quiet around here. I think I’ll keep you around for the company.”

“Bones,” he says, coming more awake. Everything hurts, but he really does hate Sickbay, and hates how bright everything is. He’d rest much better in his own quarters: he knows it, and Bones knows it. Bones is a stubborn bastard, though, and always thinks he knows better than Jim what Jim needs. But Jim is a master of persuasion, and all he needs to do is convince Bones to let him go. Logically. Because it only makes sense to let him go: he’ll heal faster when he’s more comfortable. He knows it. Besides, it’s _Christmas._

“What do you remember?” interrupts Bones, just as Jim opens his mouth to make his pitch.

Jim frowns again. Remember? He … “Where’s Nelson?” Something screeches off to his right, and something tears as he tries to get up. Nelson was … and Lieutenant Chivers …

Bones pushes him back down on the hard biobed, scowling and yelling at him. “Nelson is fine! Released him ages ago. And Chivers came through without a scratch, but she was a bit shaken up watching you bleed out in Nelson’s arms; I gave her a couple days’ leave and dammit, Jim, you just got out of surgery, will you lie still? And you wonder why I won’t release you back to quarters. Moron.”

Jim subsides, trying to look chastened. The away mission had been stupidly last minute. Jim had finagled Christmas back home, and they’d been Earthbound; he’d planned to dock on Earth in the early morning on Christmas Eve, so that everyone could have a few days’ worth of shore leave. But then Starfleet had sent its orders, saying the stop-over would only take a few hours, but don’t worry, they’d arrive on Earth just a few hours later than scheduled. By lunch time at worst, they’d been assured. Jim had argued, but he was still the most junior of the Captains, even if he did run their flagship. Orders were Orders, and the military had a rigid hierarchy. In the end he’d capitulated, if not gracefully. He’d had no choice.

Bones had been pissed, though, when he’d chosen to beam down with only a couple others: a single security officer, and a cultural specialist. But Kirk knew that Bones was just over-reacting, as he usually did: it was supposed to have been a simple thing—the small planet of Migra was less than a days’ journey at warp from Earth, and already part of the Federation. The mission was to have been a mere matter of beaming down, attending a ceremony where they’d sign an already-negotiated trade agreement, with the flourish of having a Starship Captain present to represent the Federation. Migra was a mining colony, rich in dilithium, and the Federation had a keen and vested interest in keeping them happy.

There had been no way to know that a dissident faction would be present. No way to know that an altercation would break out. Jim remembers getting in the way of a phaser beam and the Migran High Minister. He remembers the shocked look on the reptilian humanoid’s face as he collapsed.

“Was the High Minister all right?” Jim isn’t exactly sure what happened after that. He only remembers Nelson coming at him, looking frantic.

“Just peachy. Grateful as hell, too, to both you and the Federation. Starfleet sent you a commendation for your actions. Gave it to your mother, actually.” Bones doesn’t bother to tell Jim it was because they weren’t sure if Jim would survive, and because Bones wouldn’t leave Sickbay to pick it up, even though he is listed as next of kin. Jim would figure it out, later.

“That’s good,” says Jim, closing his eyes with a sigh. He’s tired, and it’s stupid, because he really needs to look awake and perky in order to convince Bones he’s strong enough and well enough to be released, but he’s starting to fade. He forces his eyes open again, but it takes more effort than it should. “So, how about it, Bones? Starfleet thinks I’ve done good, and don’t I deserve some time off? I’ll be good, promise. ‘Sides, I’ve already spent a night here, and it’s Christmas Eve. Surely you don’t want me to spend Christmas in Sickbay.”

“Jim …” and Bones looks pained now. “Jim, it’s the 29th. Christmas was a few days ago. Joanna visited us here, because I didn’t want to move you; she’s already gone back. She hugged you before she left, though. I’m sorry.”

“I’ve been here almost a week?” His voice sounds shrill, and he takes a deep breath. He isn’t upset. He’s calm. It’s fine. He … it was nice she hugged him, he tells himself, even if he didn’t remember. It was … “Did she like her present?” he asks instead. “I … I’d left it in my closet. I wanted to …” He’d had to pay extra to get it delivered on a rush basis, and had spent several frantic hours in between shifts to get it ready on time. He’d wanted to be there when she opened it, explain what everything meant, and why he was giving it to her.

“Sorry, Jim, it’s probably still there. I totally forgot. We can try to send it to her—we’re scheduled to be back on Earth in a few weeks, you remember, but we’ve already launched. Spock wanted to delay, but you know how short the fleet is right now.”

Bones sounds apologetic, but he had known where Joanna’s gift was, and Jim’s a little angry that he hadn’t made sure she got it, but … he hadn’t gotten his own gift either, even though Jim had worked equally hard to make sure that Bones had the best gift ever, had been bouncing around for days in anticipation of giving it to him. He’s just … he’s … he doesn’t even know. Everything hurts, and he’s slept through Christmas, and Bones won’t even let him go back to his own bed.

It doesn’t matter, Jim tells himself. It doesn’t.

Later, Jim would hear through the gossip grapevine how Dr. McCoy had yelled at Spock, in the middle of the bridge, because all Spock would do was would repeat his orders, until the moment when he’d said he’d understood, and that he would personally inform Kirk’s mother that she would have to leave the ship. There’d been something about Spock’s face that had made McCoy stop hollering at Spock, then. Later, Admiral Barnett would ask him why none of his command crew on the Enterprise appeared able to deal with simple orders, and he would learn that Spock had spent over a half hour arguing with Starfleet Command about leaving Earth before Jim was fit to resume command.

“Yeah,” Jim says instead of screaming, and he’d nod but he’d tried that earlier and the blinding pain had persuaded him not to try again, “sure. Did you let my mom know why I couldn’t make it?” He’d planned to go to Iowa for the holidays, and Bones and Joanna were supposed to come too. Sam was gonna be there, with Aurelan and his baby nephew.

“Yeah, she came down to get your commendation. Sat with you for a couple of days, but she had to leave when we launched.” Bones’ tone is gentle, and careful, and his face is etched with concern, and sympathy, because as much as Jim is wishing and trying for casual nonchalance—it’s just not _Captainly_ , he tells himself, to be angry about something no one can help--he knows that under the damned Sickbay lights, Bones can’t help but notice how Jim is blinking and clenching his fist. It’s stupid, though, because he is absolutely not upset at all. At least his mom came—he’d wanted to go to Iowa, but shit happens, and she’s Starfleet. She’d be the first to understand if he couldn’t make it home this year. He guessed Sam would’ve understood too, although Jim had wanted to see his nephew. Pictures and vid were great, but he’d wanted to meet the newest Kirk, be at the christening they’d scheduled for Christmas Eve, just so Jim could be there. So he could hold his godson when he was named. Well, it didn’t matter. Christmas was dumb, anyway.

He’d just never missed one before.

Bones is stroking his hair, but it’s too much and so he twitches his head slightly away, plastering a smile on his face. “It’s fine, Bones. I think I’ll sleep for a bit, and maybe you can see about releasing me, huh?”

“Not yet, Jim. Five days.” Bones’ eyes are sad, but he moves his hand away.

“Today, Bones.” Jim makes his voice hard: an order.

“Four days, Jim.” Bones’ voice is getting harder too, because he’s still the CMO; although underneath it all, Jim can tell Bones wants to tease, to cajole, to get back to their regular Jim-and-Bones routine.

Jim clenches his teeth. He can’t do it today. He knows this game: Bones always starts high—fucking heard him once, explaining that this way, Jim would argue and then think the earlier release was his own idea rather than what Bones planned to do in the first place—but Jim isn’t up to it today. So he just gives in, for now, and decides he’ll leave when he can, and Bones can yell all he wants. Because even Bones can’t bodily make him stay where he doesn’t want to be.

“Fine. Whatever. We’ll talk about it later.” He knows his voice has gone harsh, Captainy, but he can’t … he fucking can’t … he’s the Captain, and this is what he signed up for, so it’s no less than he deserves. Missions happen, and they never said he’d be able to make it home for Christmas, in fact, it was an exception this first year that he could. And he’s grateful to Starfleet, he _is_. He was a screw up before, and at least now he’s worth something, but …

He just wishes Joanna would’ve gotten her present. He’d even made her cookies. Now it doesn’t even matter, because in a month, they’ll be stale and pointless.

His head throbs, and his leg burns. He barely even twitches at the sharp sting of the hypospray against his throat.

Pointless.

And Christmas was over days ago.

**********************************

[Part 2!](http://ivorysilk.livejournal.com/14526.html)


	2. ST Ficlet:  Home for the Holidays

******************************************

Jim spends the next two days in Sickbay, before he’s strong enough to sit and stand unaided. Bones releases him as soon as he is strong enough to get to the bathroom by himself, and it galls him that Bones had already known that it would take three days for this to happen. It’s not like he’s going far, anyway. He and Bones began sharing quarters months ago, and Bones is far too perceptive for Jim’s own good. The level of medical supervision is only slightly reduced even though he’s back in his own room, because Bones monitors everything, still—what Jim replicates for meals and how much goes in the waste, and how tired Jim looks and what his vital signs are. Turns out Jim was allergic to something he ate on the planet, and that in combination with his injuries is impeding his recovery (Bones explained it, but Jim was a little loopy at the time and didn’t want to admit it, and in fairness Bones warned him that he wouldn’t repeat himself later), so while he should have been back to normal days ago, he’s not. Bones leaves a medical tricorder, and makes Jim promise to take readings every four hours. It’s a pain, but it’s a condition of his release, and even if he’s only exchanging one bed for another, he’d much rather be in the quiet, softer, less-beepy bed he calls his own, in his own dark and private room, than in the harshly bright Sickbay.

He’s tired anyway, and sleeping most of the time is kind of all he can manage. He wakes, once, and Bones is sitting beside him, just watching him; he wakes again and there’s lunch by his bed, along with some pills and a note on his PADD saying he better eat it all and take the meds and letting him know Bones would be dropping by to check on him later.

The note is on the top of the PADD, over quarterly reports and updates from Spock. He doesn’t read the reports, or the updates. There are a pile of presents in one corner of the room. He doesn’t open them, even though he’s well enough to get them if he wants, or he could ask Bones to get them for him. Bones asked him, even, if he’d like to open them, and he said he’d do it later. Bones had started to say something, and then changed his mind, saying “Sure, Jim,” and kissing him before leaving for his shift.

While Bones is gone, he opens the cards and reads them carefully. There are messages, too: from his mom, Sam, Joanna, even his old pal Johnny, plus a vid of Aurelan and the baby. He watches them, and lets himself cry when he sees his godson, all in white, smiling at him as he’s named. He feels sick from the drugs and he hurts from his injuries and he isn’t happy, and he doesn’t want to be the Captain right now. He wants Bones to sit with him, and he wants the Enterprise to go back, and he wants and he wants and he wants.

He knows he can’t have what he wants, but he wants it anyway.

He eats the food, and takes the pills, not bothering to run the scan. Bones is way too over-protective sometimes.

He falls asleep watching his mother wave at him from the screen.

*************************

“Jim?” calls Bones through the comm. “You have a visitor. I’ve told him to go on in when he gets there.” It’s probably one of the crew, and Jim’s annoyed. Normally, Bones restricts his visitors until Jim is stronger, and he doesn’t get why Bones would let someone visit, or give them the entry code, especially when Jim still feels like shit. On the other hand, he is the Captain, and he it simply won’t do for him to refuse to see a crew member who has taken the effort to come and see him. So he plasters a smile on his face, tries to sit up (too quickly, jarring his leg badly, making him grit his teeth against the spinning room), and wishes for a hairbrush. He’s considering asking Bones to let him change his shirt into something more presentable and trying to right himself from where he’s listing to the side of the bed when the door opens, catching him unawares.

“Jesus, Jimmy!” says Sam, rushing forward, and catching Jim in his arms. “Your McCoy wasn’t kidding, you _are_ an idiot. Although I knew that already. Hold still.”

Sam’s shirt is made of some soft, thick material, and he envelops Jim in his embrace, just like he did when Jim was a kid and Sam was everything an older brother should be. He pulls Jim up and adjusts the pillows behind him, depositing Jim down gently even as Jim is left wondering what is happening and how.

Bones wanders in just as Sam is getting a pliant Jim settled; he’s still too dazed to protest or move of his own volition.

“You should scan him,” Sam is saying. “Foolish kid was falling off the bed when I came in; God only knows what he was trying to do.”

“I wasn’t—“ Jim finds his tongue to protest. “I –“

“I think he tore something,” says Sam. “He feels kind of warm.”

“I think you may be right,” Bones agrees, whipping out a tricorder. They’re both in complete agreement, talking about him like he’s not even there, and Jim begins to feel distinctly annoyed.

“Hey!” he says, indignant. “What’s going on?”

“Your brother came to visit for New Years’. Thought you’d like that.” Bones’ voice is suspiciously bland, prodding gently at his leg, and Sam is nodding, and it’s like they’re playing some kind of huge practical joke on him or something, and it’s making Jim all kinds of unsettled. “You’re leg’s fine, by the way, but don’t do whatever it is you did again. Your temp’s a bit elevated.”

“I was trying to sit up.” Jim snarls the words through gritted teeth.

“Well, don’t do that, then.” Bones’ tone is mild, but his eyes are twinkling.

“I don’t—“ Jim’s so confused, and it’s making him kind of angry that the other two men are so damned amused. He wants an explanation, and he wanted it _yesterday_.

“I took a shuttle to be within range, and your Scotty beamed me up.” Sam finally takes pity on him, it seems, but it still makes no _sense_.

“Scotty beamed you –“ Jim feels like he’s trying to think through a fog. He wonders if it’s the medication, or he’s really just that slow.

“Close your mouth, Jim, you’ll catch flies,” says Bones snidely, coming to sit beside him on the bed, and putting an arm around him, drawing him gently close. Jim leans into Bones, gratefully, closing his eyes. It feels like only moments have passed, but he opens his eyes as he feels Bones shifting. When he looks around, the room is dim, and Sam is gone.

“Sam?” he calls, wondering if he dreamt it, wondering if he’s having a reaction to the medication, wondering if Bones will think he’s lost it.

“I’ve arranged for guest quarters for him. He’ll be back in the morning. It’s late, Jim, and you need to get some rest.” Bones is pushing him down, drawing the covers over him.

Jim scowls. “Been resting,” he says, petulantly.

“Well, you need to rest _more_ ,” says Bones, patiently. Well, patiently for him, anyway.

“He left Aurelan alone?” Jim’s catching up, and now he’s a bit pissed on her behalf. She just had a baby, for God’s sake.

Bones strokes hair off his face, and cups his hand around Jim’s cheek. “She wanted to come too, but with the baby, I didn’t want to risk all the travel—you know how I feel about space--so I told her not to. She was completely behind him coming, though. And you’ll see her and the baby soon enough; in the meantime Sam’ll stay for a couple of days. That good enough for you?”

“Yeah, but if he’s only here for a couple days, can’t we …”

“No, Jim,” says Bones, guessing what Jim’s about to say before he says it. “He’ll be pissed as hell if you start being more of an idiot than you generally are just because he’s here. So you need to get some sleep, and he’ll come keep you company in the morning while I’m on shift, all right?”

Jim nods. He’s learnt that when Bones uses that tone, it’s best not to push him.

“Gotcha, Bones. I’ll be good.” Besides, when Sam is playing the big brother card—which, given Sam and Bones’ earlier exchange, he clearly is--it’s easier to just listen. Sam starts getting all self-righteous and I’m older and do what I say and annoying when Jim doesn’t.

Bones is getting undressed, killing the lights, and then he crawls into the bed and arranges Jim so his leg is still elevated, but he’s cradled in Bones’ arms. Jim relaxes, breathing in the scent of Bones and suddenly, incredibly, happy.

“Bones?” he asks.

“Yeah, Jim,” replies McCoy, in a long-suffering tone, and Jim knows that he’s a second away from asking why Jim’s still talking.

“Thanks.” And Jim smiles, in the darkness, because for this moment, his world is pretty near perfect.

“Whatever. It was Sam’s idea, anyway. He couldn’t stand the idea that you’d missed Christmas. And he kept asking, so I told him if he was that worried, he should just come see you his own damn self.”

Jim’s smile, if anything, grows wider. He looks at the pile of presents in the corner, feels Bones’s lips graze his neck, and closes his eyes.

“But I didn’t miss Christmas, Bones. This year, I was totally home for the holidays.” And Jim falls asleep, smiling and dreaming of sugarplums.

**********************************

_End._


End file.
